Pies and Arrivals
by lordhellebore
Summary: Three times Ned and Catelyn Stark have pie in the middle of the night. Each time, it has to do with the children.


**Content:** Domestic violence

* * *

 **1\. Robb**

"I don't care that it's 2am, we need pie."

All things considered, Ned thinks, taking another bite of strawberry pie as the thunder rumbles above them, it could have been far worse. Sending your boyfriend for pie in the middle of the night after you just found out that you're pregnant when you're both barely 20 and have been together for less than a year . . . In fact, it's among the most laid-back reactions he can imagine, and certainly better than the drama with his sister Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen when they'd found out that she was unexpectedly pregnant just a few weeks ago.

"What do you want to do?"

Catelyn sighs at the question and closes her eyes, leaning back against the wall. "We're too young," she says.

Ned knows she is right. They've talked about having children – in five years, if that. For a while, they stay silent, watching the clouds racing over the dark sky and listening to the thunder coming nearer.

"I'm going to have the baby."

Ned turns to look at her: she's barefoot and wearing faded jeans and a green blouse, her dark red hair is shimmering faintly in the light shining outside onto the balcony form the kitchen, and her mouth is set in a way he's learnt to interpret as determination. She's beautiful.

"If you don't feel like you can –"

"Catelyn, stop it right there." He shifts closer and puts his arm around her, and thankfully, she lets him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

" _We're_ going to have the baby," he says, and all tension leaves her body, her hand searching and finding his. "I imagine Rhaegar will accuse us of copying them."

Catelyn chuckles and he holds her closer. Thunder is rumbling above them. Things will work out – they'll work them out, together.

* * *

 **2\. Jon**

Ned is more than confused when in response to what he tells her, Catelyn sits down at the kitchen table and starts peeling and dicing apples. For some minutes, he watches in silence – it is a lot to digest – but when she makes no move to speak, he eventually has to ask.

"What are you –"

"I'm making pie," she cuts him off. "It's after midnight, you just told me that your sister and Rhaegar finally realised that they're too damn irresponsible to take care of their own child – which, by the way, I could've told you when Jon was a year old already – and I don't think I can deal with this if I don't have something to cut with a very sharp knife."

Said knife hits the cutting board with a "thwack", and Ned decides that it might be a good idea not to ask whether the apples are representing Lyanna or Rhaegar – although both is probably the most accurate answer. It's not as though he could blame her.

Jon's parents love him, he's got no doubt about it. That doesn't change the fact that they haven't been providing him with what one could in good conscience call a stable home. In between varying short-time employments, weekends wasted on parties, and dropping off Jon with Ned and Catelyn spontaneously in favour of whatever travel destination caught their fancy this time, it's safe to say that if anyone has been a consistent parental influence on six-year-old Jon, it's been his aunt and uncle.

The fact that just some weeks ago, he called Ned 'daddy' while falling asleep in his lap . . . well. It only proves his point.

"They want for us to take him in permanently," Catelyn says. It's not a question.

"Yes."

"And you said what?"

"That I couldn't give them an answer without asking you first."

"I wonder if they thought you would simply say yes." Ned winces as he watches the knife barely pass by Catelyn's thumb. "Sansa is just over a year old. I'm pregnant again and now . . ."

She breathes deeply, closing her eyes for some long moments, and – much to his relief – puts away the knife. When she looks up again, he's surprised to see the hint of a smile. "We _do_ want a large family, after all. And I suspect it's something Jon has wanted for some time as well. He's called me 'mum' more than once, you know."

To say a rock is rolling off Ned's chest would be an understatement. "Thank you."

She shrugs. "If we're honest, it's not really a choice, is it? He's been ours for a while already. And where there's room and money for three children, there's room and money for one more."

* * *

 **3\. Theon**

It's no wonder Catelyn looks like death warmed over when she comes down to the living room at almost 3:30am.

"He's finally asleep for good," she sighs as she slumps into an armchair. "I tried to leave three times before, but he'd always wake up again and just. . ." She shakes her head. "I couldn't go then."

"Of course not," Ned agrees. Not when they'd come home just after 11pm from the hospital, where they'd been called by the police to pick up their oldest son's best friend with a black eye, a broken arm, and bruises all over. They'd known Theon's family situation wasn't the best, to use a euphemism: his mother is dead, his father is drinking, his adult brothers are in and out of jail for petty crime constantly, and his teenage sister ran away just a few months ago. Come to think of it, she'd been keeping everything running from what little Theon had told Robb – and Robb them – and with her gone, apparently it all fell apart.

Ned has only met Balon Greyjoy a handful of times, but he's got no difficulties believing what the police said about him putting Theon in the state he's in. Most likely, this isn't even the first time – just the worst.

Ned yawns and rubs his eyes; he'd wanted to go to bed when the phone had rung. He wonders what they'll do now. Theon can't go back home; he'd been alone with his father, who'll spend some time behind bars for certain for what he did.

"Does he have any family left?"

Catelyn shakes her head. "They're not an option. Social Services told me that his grandparents are dead, and his uncles . . . Victarion's in prison for killing his wife, Aeron is a religious nut who's been banned from god knows how many public and private places already – not to mention several cities and _Denmark_ – and Euron keeps running off to the sea and disappears for years on end. It's not happening, Ned."

"Well, that decides it, doesn't it?" Between this and the way Theon had – still somewhat out of it due to the shock and the pain meds – alternately clung to Ned's and Catelyn's hand, asking them to not make him go back with such dread it had made Ned want to smash in Balon's face . . .

Ned gets up from the couch and rounds the coffee table, pressing a kiss to Catelyn's forehead when he reaches her. "Do you want apple, strawberry or . . . ?"

She frowns for just a moment before she understands. "Cherry," she says with a wry smile, and adds, "We both knew it as soon as they rang us, didn't we?"

Ned nods. "He's been living here half the time anyway, what with him and Robb being joined at the hip since first grade. And just that he asked for us when they asked if he had anywhere he could go . . . It won't make so much of a difference. Where there's room and money for five children –"

"– there's room and money for one more."

So far, it's always proven true.


End file.
